How do I dress for a day
that provides sunlight,
but silences a song
with the tapping complaints
of fingertips?
There is a bright sky marbled
white and blue, yet the eye walks
an electronic path searching for offense
and misses the wonder of morning.
Perhaps I should dress as a crayon box
where nothing matches but everything belongs,
tell everyone I meet I am a wild garden, a spirit
unencrypted who finds joy in the beauty of flawed.
Comments
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joy in the beauty of flawed.
Such a cute thing to take things in a lighter mood. Good humor Susie!
Hank
I dress as a crayon box too...
Anna :o]